


A Grape in the Fruit Bowl

by boorishbint



Series: Lookaftering and Leavetaking [1]
Category: Moominvalley (Cartoon 2019), Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Family, Fluff, Height Differences, Joxter is sickeningly besotted, Light Angst, Mymble is cautious, Pregnancy, Romance, hop on everyone it's the 1920's in moominland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 00:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21401155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boorishbint/pseuds/boorishbint
Summary: The Mymble has something to tell him.
Relationships: Joxaren | The Joxter/Mymlan | The Mymble
Series: Lookaftering and Leavetaking [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1492982
Comments: 12
Kudos: 162
Collections: Marigolds Discord Recs





	A Grape in the Fruit Bowl

**Author's Note:**

> _When it comes to floral language, the sweetpea flower is associated with delicate pleasure, blissful pleasure, departure, goodbye, thank you for the lovely time and adieu._

Mymble finds him in the sweet-peas.  
  
He sits cross-legged and rumpled, threading stems together with three of the children sat before him. They are trying to help, offering everything from daisies to meadow cat-tails. Joxter takes what’s given and tries to include it best he can, speaking softly to the children as he does. He sits with no hat and wilting flowers in his straggly hair, the ribbon that holds it in a loose ponytail frayed.  
  
He’s like a well-loved soft toy or old gloves. Mymble adores him.  
  
‘Joxter, sweet,’ Mymble says and Joxter’s pointy ears twitch towards her before he does. The children run first, tugging on her skirts and all talking over each other to tell her what they are doing. ‘Yes, yes. I see! Most clever of you all. Now run to your sister, she’s got tea ready.’  
  
Run they do, as children are wont when there is the promise of sweet things. Mymble watches them toddle off back towards the cottage, touching her chest to soothe the fondness inside. It burns so brightly sometimes she wonders how she doesn’t just light all the way up like a  
candlewick.  
  
Joxter gets up from the sweet-peas and Mymble turns to him at once, smiling as she can’t seem to help herself in doing when seeing him. He is so very short, or at least is such to her. The top of his head just barely to her breast and she cups his face in her hands. The bristle of his sideburns scratch and his long whiskers tickle out between her fingers. Joxter always sticks out.  
  
‘Sweet man,’ she says to him, low and fond. Joxter goes up on the top of his toes, pressing his nose to hers when she leans down to meet him. ‘Are you well?’  
  
‘Always well with you near, my love,’ Joxter replies, tilting to kiss her.

Oh, how he makes her heart flutter! He kisses so sweet and so gentle it makes Mymble wonder how she ever stuck the men before. Were they all so kind to her? She isn’t sure.

‘We’ve made you something, the children and I.’  
  
‘Oh?’  
  
Joxter holds his paw aloft and between his fingers he holds a bracelet, made of many flower stems and some lavender all threaded together like a wreath. Joxter steps back, taking Mymble’s hand as though he were much grander than he is and glances up at her, eyes bright through where his dark hair hangs low.  
  
‘My, what talent,’ Mymble says, letting Joxter slide it over her wrist. How small his paws are, she thinks. Joxter laughs- he wheezes it, too many years of pipesmoke and travelling in cold weather. ‘That’s just the cat’s pyjamas!’  
  
‘Never let it be said the Joxter didn’t give you a ring at least in some fasion,’ he teases and Mymble laughs, too. Marriage is always funny to them. She raises her hand, admiring the bracelet and smelling the lavender. ‘You’re back sooner than expected. You’re normally far too busy in the middle of the day for me to see you before supper.’  
  
‘And you’re never busy at all.’  
  
‘I was busy. Missing you is a business.’  
  
‘Flatterer,’ Mymble says, pushing him on the shoulder. ‘I was at the doctor’s today.’  
  
Joxter frowns instantly, looking her up and down like he might spot the malady. ‘Are you ill? You should tell me if you’re ill, I can make you a remedy faster than any doctor can.’  
  
‘This can’t be cured with a root or bloom, my dear,’ Mymble says, touched by his concern. She watches him for a moment, unusually hesitant.  
  
He’s still so young, perhaps that’s it. Mymble was well into teenagehood by the time he was born, no doubt. She wonders if it’s even very fair and perhaps if she loved him a little less, or was perhaps more sensible, she’d make the decision for both of them and be done with it. As it is though, she simply can’t refuse him the chance to make up his own mind.  
  
Mymble believes in the power of that above all things, after all.  
  
Joxter is waiting expectantly, his frown getting deeper the longer she doesn’t say anything. What a mess, he looks and Mymble knows now she’s getting distracted with the purpose of putting off telling him a little longer. But it’s true all the same; the Joxter is a creature of many things and an air of _put-togetherness_ is certainly not one of them. She still hesitates.  
  
‘My love,’ Joxter says, coming close again and he reaches up, touching her face. ‘It is not in my nature to be worrying, but you are tempting me to do so all the same. What is the matter?’  
  
Mymble purses her lips, leaning into Joxter’s paw. His fur is so fine there and soft, but the pads rough with many years of hard living. Her funny little man; all tangled up and her heart aches. She’s never had to tell a man this before. They were usually gone or she was usually left, whichever came first and dear, dear this is all so new!  
  
In the end, she can’t tell him. Or rather, she can’t say it. Mymble takes Joxter’s paw from her face and brings it down, past her chest and lower again. She presses it, palm up, against the lowest part of her stomach.  
  
Joxter’s frown stays as he looks at his paw where it’s pressed, held there by Mymble until he gets her meaning. She watches his face, heart beating very quickly as his eyes suddenly go wide. His jaw drops, showing his pointed teeth.  
  
‘Oh!’ he says, rushing forward and putting his other paw next to the first. ‘Oh! Is it- are you sure?’  
  
‘Absolu-posi-tuvely,’ Mymble replies, for she is most certainly is. If anyone knows the signs it’s herself! ‘Doctor confirmed it this morning.’  
  
She is suddenly toppling, near over entirely as Joxter has leapt at her, arms up and around her waist.  
  
His large nose sticks right into her, he’s pressed so close and it takes Mymble a moment to realise that he’s shaking. Shaking and laughing. He’s laughing so much his lungs seem to be rattling with it.  
  
‘This is- why this is-!’ Joxter can’t seem to get the words out, hopping now and he steps back to take both Mymble’s hand into a paw each. He starts to spin her, as though they’re dancing. ‘Are you very, very sure, Mymble doll?’  
  
Mymble huffs. ‘You think I don’t know, of all creatures, when I’m pregnant? Or do you really trust doctors so little?’  
  
Joxter ignores her scolding and she can’t hold it anyway, starting to laugh herself as they spin around together in the garden. Joxter stops to come close again, paws to her stomach reverently though she’s not showing yet. Joxter sinks to his knees before her, nosing along her abdomen.  
  
‘You remarkable creature,’ Joxter tells her, though his eyes are low still. The sequins of her dress are reflecting in the blue of his eyes. Little dots of red and green. ‘How is it even possible to love you more?’  
  
‘Don’t be so daft!’ she says, unusually bashful. She puts her hands to the top of his head, running her fingers through the knots in his hair. ‘I think you’ve been in the sun too long, losing your marbles.’  
  
‘All my marbles are here and accounted for,’ Joxter tells her, looking up and goodness, how can she doubt him? He wears love as bold and brash as he might wear anything. ‘I love you. I love you absolutely and never more than right now.’

‘Silly man,’ Mymble tells him as it’s true. Joxter grins up at her, rubbing her belly through her dress. ‘It’s very early yet, so if you’re trying to find the wee thing already you’ll be disappointed.’  
  
‘Oh, my love,’ Joxter says, pressing a kiss to her stomach. ‘Mymble doll, I am many things and not one is disappointed.’  
  
‘Sure on that, are you?’ Mymble asks, trying to hide her nervousness with jest. It works for Joxter doesn’t seem to notice.  
  
‘Can you hear me, little one?’ Joxter asks her belly and Mymble laughs at him, at how silly he’s being but Joxter doesn’t seem to mind at all. ‘Have you ears already?’  
  
‘Joxter, he’s not even the size of a grape yet!’ Mymble laughs and Joxter pauses, looking up at her again. Her laughter cuts off, thrown by the wild look on Joxter’s face.  
  
‘He?’ he says and Mymble is confused until she isn’t.  
  
‘Well, I don’t know that,’ Mymble says, backtracking. Joxter stands, taking her hands in his paws again as she’s flapping them anxiously. ‘But that’s how I’m feeling about it. Call it mother’s intuition?’  
  
‘He,’ Joxter says again and he surges up to his toes, kissing her. He kisses her again, and again. Truly, Mymble can’t count but she’s very flushed by the time he pulls back. ‘Mymble, you’re the bee’s knees. And his elbows, and his wrists! He! My kit’s a he!’  
  
Mymble doesn’t have the heart to tell him that such things are never certain. He’s just so excited. Mymble watches as he chatters, his whiskers standing straight up with excitement and his tail is swishing behind him. She’s not even listening to what he’s saying, too distracted by the way his cheeks have gone ruddy and the big, big grin on his face.  
  
Joxter stops then, said grin faltering. ‘Mymble, love?’  
  
Mymble blinks, not sure why Joxter is staring at her like that until she realises she’s crying. Oh, goodness! Mymble quickly wipes at her eyes, mortified.  
  
‘Sorry, sorry!’ she says, stepping away when Joxter tries to take her in close to him. ‘Ignore me, Jox. I’m all in a tizzy, it seems!’  
  
‘Is something the matter?’ Joxter asks, reaching out but he stops. His ears droop. ‘Oh. You’re not happy, are you?’  
  
‘Oh, my sweet man!’ Mymble replies, laughing despite the way her eyes are watering. ‘That’s not it at all. I’m happy as a peach in the cobbler.’  
  
‘Then why are you crying?’  
  
‘It’s just…’ Mymble trails off, putting a hand to her face so her cool fingers might help. ‘You’ll think me some fool.’  
  
‘Possibly. But what should that matter?’  
  
Mymble laughs at him. Her Joxter, so clever and doubly improper. She admires it terribly much.  
  
‘It’s just very strange,’ she says, wiping her cheeks. ‘I’ve never had a father with me for this part.’  
  
Joxter frowns. ‘Is it bad?  
  
‘Just… strange.’ Mymble puts a hand to her abdomen, presses in a little harder like she might somehow feel the little thing inside. ‘It feels different to have someone other than myself here at the beginning. Normally the excitement is all for me and my little ones. It feels… unnatural to share.’  
  
Joxter’s tail flicks.

‘Is it so bad to go against our nature, even if just once or twice?’ Joxter asks. Mymble hums, unsure.  
  
‘No, maybe not. And I suppose you’re already against yours anyway.’  
  
‘No for or against in my nature. Otherwise it’s less a nature and more an occupation and I’ll kick the bucket before I submit myself to one of those,’ Joxter teases, up on his toes again. He presses his nose to her neck, breathes there and she can feel his warm breath and smell stale clove oil in his hair. He purrs, deep in his chest and it rumbles against her. 'I just be what I am and step over what I'm not.'  
  
'Well, what you're not is going anywhere and what you are is here.'  
  
'Is that a bad thing?'  
  
'I had thought you might've moseyed on by now, if I'm to be honest,' Mymble says and Joxter blinks at her, slow and round. Eyes like shiny buttons, he has and Mymble remembers that she'd liked them from the very first moment.   
  
'Sick of me already?' Joxter says, grinning for he knows that's not it but can't seem to resist the joke. It stops the tears as Mymble smiles.  
  
'Oh, sick to the teeth!' she replies and Joxter purrs louder, presses closer and she really does like him an awful, awful lot.  
  
‘We’re going in a nice little circle, you and I. You were pregnant when I met you.’  
  
‘Was I? My noggin’s like cotton lately, I’m afraid I don’t remember,’ Mymble says and they both laugh at that. Mymble squeezes her stomach. ‘This one will be different though.’  
  
‘How so?’  
  
‘All my other children are just mine,’ she continues, looking over Joxter’s fuzzy head to the cottage. Through the window, she can see her eldest pacing the kitchen, no doubt distributing plates to her siblings. ‘This one won’t be.’  
  
‘No,’ Joxter says, sounding awed again. ‘No, I suppose he won’t. What do you think he’ll be like?’  
  
‘You, I’d think.’  
  
‘Poor thing,’ Joxter says, his laugh a touch too sharp to be genuine. Mymble looks back to him, takes his face back into her hands and holds him close. She presses their foreheads together; something he taught her to do and his purr comes back.  
  
‘He’ll be very lucky if he is,’ Mymble says genuinely, kissing Joxter. Oh, how she loves to kiss him. His whiskers tickle and his chest shakes like a wind-chime. ‘I was nervous to tell you.’  
  
‘Whatever for?’ Joxter murmurs, his lips still pressed to hers.  
  
‘I…’ Mymble doesn’t want to say that she didn’t think him ready, as truth be told she still thinks he isn't. ‘Parenthood is a rather big thing, my dear.’  
  
‘I like big things,’ Joxter says, pulling away to raise his bushy eyebrows at her and Mymble scoffs at his teasing, shoving him lightly. He doesn’t go, instead wrapping his arms around her waist. His paws barely meet behind her. ‘I’m happy you told me. Chuffed beyond anything, if you must know.’  
  
‘You do seem quite pleased.’  
  
They stand together in the garden, almost swaying together. Joxter's tail whips around her ankles, taps against her boots and Mymble head does indeed feel like cotton. All tangled up and knotty inside. Joxter has a paw to her stomach again, making small rubbing motions. It still feels unusual, for someone else to be doing it.   
  
'How does one even share a child?' Mymble wonders aloud, eyes on the sweet-peas. They're yellow and pink and purple, growing all over the place.   
  
'Much as one shares anything, I would think,' Joxter replies, tail curling around one of Mymble's ankles. 'You simply ask if they'd like a part of it.'  
  
'And do you want a part of it?'  
  
'I had thought that was obvious.'  
  
'Obvious now does not mean obvious later, sweet,' Mymble replies, walking away from him. Joxter's paw slides along her middle and she stands in the sweet-peas, arms crossing. 'It'll be the worse half of Autumn by the time he comes.'  
  
'Autumn, Summer, what different should it make what colour the leaves are?'  
  
'I mean to say it's a few months away.'  
  
'I know how long it takes the birds and the bees to have a conversation, Mymble.' Joxter chuckles. 'You and I tend to converse quite often.'  
  
'Joxter,' Mymble says, losing patience. She looks to him, considering. 'I'm not asking you to stay. Not going to ask you now, not going to ask you later.'  
  
Joxter tilts his head, clearly confused. 'Course not. Not in the business of asking, you and I.'  
  
'I won't need you,' she says, firmer than usually needs to be with him. Joxter stiffens. 'I won't and don't. In fact, I'm in a rather constant state of not needing much at all. Especially you.'  
  
A bird tweets overhead, swooping low and vanishing into one of the bushes. They both look at each other, silent until they're not.

'But I do want you,' Mymble continues, quieter than before. This is harder to say aloud as it is. She puts her hand to her stomach again. 'Nearly every bit of you.'  
  
'Mymble...'  
  
'But I don't want the bit of you that keeps looking away,' she says, not unkindly but Joxter winces slightly all the same. 'It isn't fair. I like to let things grow as they need to, not as they ought to and it's as true for my garden as it is for my children and you, my sweet man... It must be true for you, too. So stay as long as you want to and don't go feeling guilty when the want runs out. You're too young a thing to worry for it.'  
  
Joxter shakes his head. 'I'm not that young.'  
  
'Young enough, I would think.'  
  
'And I'm not going to make you a promise.'  
  
'Good. I don't want one of those either.'  
  
'But I'll love you all the same,' Joxter says, boldly and he puffs his slight chest. Mymble sighs, fond despite herself. 'We're a family, you and I.'  
  
That stalls Mymble entirely and she feels something go unusually tight inside of her. 'Oh. I guess we are.'  
  
Joxter walks up to her, closing their distance again. He unfolds her arms, takes her hands and presses them to his cheeks. Joxter closes his eyes, lets his face rest more into her hands. Trusts her to take the weight. His head feels heavy there and she leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of it.   
  
'I don't know if being a family is the same as being in love,' Mymble says into his hair, unsure because she is. 'Never been one in the same before.'  
  
'Being in love is easy,' he says but Mymble doesn't agree with that herself.   
  
'You only say that as you haven't been a family before.'  
  
'And you've never been in love before.'  
  
'Of course I have,' Mymble says but Joxter opens his eyes, looks at her so clearly. There's something about him, this Mumrik fellow who sleeps crooked in her bed and presses teeth to her breast, as though he might taste her heartbeat. Something that makes her feel like he can look right through her. 'Just... not the love you've been in.'  
  
'What makes you think that's not what I meant, my Mymble?' Joxter says, sounding wiser than she knows him to be. He leans up to kiss her again, tempting her as he always manages to do. 'Let me stay until I don't. Go on, my love. Let me.'  
  
Mymble is tearing up again and she wants to laugh at herself, but find she can't. This is such serious business, really. Mymble isn't a fan of serious anything and certainly not business, but it seems it simply can't be helped.

At least Joxter is as unsure as she is. She wonders, perhaps madly, if this uncertainty is anything like what other parents feel. The ones that do it together all the time. 

Mymble puts a hand to her belly again.  
  
'You sap,' she says, to one of them though she's not sure which. 'If you keep that sweet nonsense up, who knows how soft you're little one will be.'  
  
'Hopefully very soft.' Joxter says, putting a paw over her hand and they hold the small one together. 'Soft as a pillow. Then his heart will always have somewhere to land.'  
  
'Already worried about his poor heart?'  
  
'Gives me a break from worrying about my own,' Joxter says, kissing her neck. They linger together in the garden a long while and Mymble thinks maybe- quite possibly- they both ought to look out for Joxter's heart better.

**Author's Note:**

> mymble talks like a moll... tell me im wrong. 
> 
> also im thinking joxter is like 22 here as that’s how old my dad was when he found out about me... mymble is like 37 which seems a respectable age to have 20 odd children at and explains why she started to slow down and only had 17 more in the next two odd decades
> 
> i just wanted to write them together


End file.
